


Polaris

by passing-fanciful (kageygirl)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/pseuds/passing-fanciful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian's always been an excellent navigator, but he no longer has to find his way alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polaris

There's a crash and a clatter from her bedroom, but it's the truly impressive stream of profanity that draws him from the living room of her new quarters. Emma straightens up when he appears in the doorway, brushing back her hair, frustration twisting her features as she stares at the mess on the floor. "The drawer stuck," she says, shooting a murderous glance at her dresser, now sporting an empty slot whose former occupant is overturned before it. "Sorry--it'll just be a minute, I just want to get this stuff off the floor."

"No need to apologize, Swan, so long as you let me help."

He kneels beside her, taking the opportunity to gently bump her shoulder with his own, and she sends him a look that's embarrassment mingled with gratitude. She sets the drawer upright and begins dropping articles of clothing into it, while he tucks other odds and ends into the empty space she leaves him--mostly small boxes, their contents unknown to him, but his curiosity is idle and inconsequential.

Until he picks up an item wrapped in dark cloth--flat, round, possibly metallic if the chill is any indication. It seems damnably familiar, and in that split-second of near recognition, the pirate in him surmounts his gentlemanly intent not to rifle through her possessions. He slides the cloth aside with his thumb, and then stares down at his discovery.

"You kept it," he murmurs, running the pad of his thumb over the smooth face of it. Despite everything it's been through, there's not a scratch on it--part of the magic, he presumes, but it feels more significant than that.

"I don't even know why," she says, concentrating far too intently on corralling together a pile of socks to be doing anything but avoiding his gaze. "I stuck it in my pocket when we crawled out of the well, and then, afterwards, I don't know."

The magic compass is even more beautiful than he remembered, an exquisite work of brass and crystal. But it's nothing compared to the vision beside him, and so he gently traps her wrist with his hook to still it, and tucks his knuckle under her chin to turn her face to him.

"You won it fairly enough," he says, and presses the compass into her hands. "There's no shame in keeping a token of your conquest." He raises his eyebrows at her, trying to coax out a smile. "Or a memento of the devilishly handsome pirate you took it from."

She presses her lips together and doesn't answer, but something flickers behind her eyes; it seems he's struck home without ever aiming a blow. He thinks on her box of childhood treasures, on the trinkets he's known her to keep, and in this, as in so many other things, they're very much alike.

They've both kept souvenirs of their pain.

But they've each come far since their first acquaintance. He's no more the man who raged against her than she's the woman afraid to let him in, and so he shifts closer to her. "That's it, isn't it, Swan?" he says softly, and brushes his fingers through a lock of her hair, careful not to snag the delicate strands. "A reminder of the one who got away."

"More like the one I got away from," she says, but she reaches up in turn to flit her fingers down his neck and toy with the hair at his nape. He phrased it thus to get a rise out of her, and she knows it, just as he understands her wordless assent. She glances down at their respective positions, and there's the smile he's been seeking, wry, but genuine. "Besides, it doesn't look like either of us got all that far."

"What can I say, love? I never had a chance." He shakes his head, knowing she'll read the truth of him. "A sailor without a compass must follow the stars, and you're the brightest star in the heavens. Of course I'd be drawn to you." He suits actions to words, giving in to his constant companion, the impulse to kiss her.

She responds willingly--more than, pressing him back against the footboard of her bed. Her hands trail down his body in a way that heats his blood and clouds his senses, and for a moment he's overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of her ardor. She nips at his lip as she pulls away, and he grins at her, running his tongue over the spot. "I thought we were going out for dinner," he says innocently, and she narrows her eyes at him.

"And here _I_ was, thinking dinner could wait," she says, and stands, holding her hand out to him. 

With their shared past hanging so heavily in the air, he can't help but be reminded of crawling from a pile of rubble to be met with restraint and abandonment--but he places his hand in hers without hesitation. A glint in her eye says she remembers, as well, but this time, she merely draws him to his feet and into her arms, letting him back her toward the side of the bed.

"I wanted you even then, you know," he whispers into her neck, drinking in the warmth of her skin, her delicate taste dancing anew over his tongue every time he's allowed to savor it. "In a vault filled with the riches of a hundred realms, you outshone them all."

"What I know is you were pretty handsy for a guy who only had one," she says, the sharp edge to her words dulled by the desire in her voice and the quick work her hands are making of his buttons. She draws her nails down his bared stomach, making his skin jump, and in return he presses his hips to hers with his hook at the small of her back, letting her feel what she's doing to him.

"I'd have taken you right there in that treasure room, against that gilded cage, if you'd wanted it," he breathes against her cheek, and watches her eyelashes flutter, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. 

He smooths a hand up her side, cupping her lovely breast, rolling his thumb over her nipple. She draws in a quick breath, then goes to work on the fastenings of his trousers, her clever fingers brushing over him in tantalizing little movements.

"Who says I didn't?" she says, drawing him out with a single firm stroke that has him rutting into her hand. She shoves impatiently at his waistband, and he takes over the task of divesting himself of his clothes as she does the same with her own. 

"If so, you hid it well, love," he says, smirking at her, and she pushes him to the bed, not ungently.

"You had to tie that thing with your fucking _mouth_ ," she mutters, but she laughs with him, and when she rolls him into the mattress, it's clear that his transgressions have been forgiven.

He's never surprised to find himself curled about her when he wakes, for he's found the true north he sought for so long, the light guiding him home over a somnolent sea.


End file.
